


He Aten't Dead

by InsertImaginativeNameHere



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), All the Wrong Questions - Lemony Snicket, Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Angst, Blood, Dead but not really, Gen, Injury, Presumed Dead, Severe Injury, Sickfic, That time everyone thought Lemony was dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-23 03:05:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9638264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertImaginativeNameHere/pseuds/InsertImaginativeNameHere
Summary: Moxie hasn't seen Lemony Snicket in years, when the news suddenly breaks of his 'death'. And that seems to be that; until he turns up suddenly in her home, insisting she tell nobody about his presence. Needless to say, Moxie isn't pleased. Not one bit.





	1. The News

**Author's Note:**

> title from a discworld reference, yes. I can't title, in other news. I really, really can't title. but this was my best possible idea.
> 
> I impulse-wrote this the other day and it's developing. I have three chapters completed and am typing the others up.  
> Honestly I don't care if there's no audience for it bc I'm a sucker for characters believing another is dead and then learning otherwise, and I'm a sucker for Moxie Mallahan's existence.
> 
> I cried at the end of ATWQ sue me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moxie follows the newspapers looking for updates from the city. One day she finds one about Lemony Snicket. And it just gets worse from there.

**Chapter One: The News**

Like any good journalist, Moxie made it her business, if not her solemn duty, to keep up with news from the city. She would skim the morning papers over breakfast; all of the good ones (of which there were few) and some of the mediocre ones (many), with a smattering of abysmal for good measure. Sometimes  _ he _ had columns in the theatre review section and though they gave away nothing about what he was doing now beyond ‘theatre reviews’, she read them anyway, as if hoping for a detail. On this particular morning she picked one from the middle of the pile and unfolded it, sipping her tea as she did. Upon seeing the headline, her face, her hand shook, but she held the teacup tightly and set it down with caution, pouring over the article more intently.

“Oh Snicket, you fool,” she muttered. “What the hell have you got yourself into?”

‘Critic, Author, Arsonist?’ the headline read. The picture on the front page was familiar, more from author portraits than Moxie’s own firsthand experience of the man, so long ago. Despite her own curiosity, she couldn’t help wishing they’d put more effort into the alliteration. ‘Asshole’ would fit so perfectly well. Harsh though it was, it was the most fitting description for someone who pushed a man to his death and then vanished without much else, leaving more mysteries and questions in his wake, many of which Moxie hadn’t been able to answer even now.

According to the article, Snicket had been found at the scene of several fires but had got away, which shouldn’t have made Moxie feel such a rush of pride in her former associate and did. And she knew whatever the facts were, this newspaper the Daily Punctilio, was getting them all awry. As a member of VFD, there was no way Snicket would burn down any buildings, least of all a library among them. While there was a schism within VFD, Moxie knew, she also knew without a doubt on which side Snicket fell. He made questionable choices and he was a damned idiot but he was to the core a basically decent person who cared deeply about the right thing to do. He  _ didn’t _ set those fires, someone had made it look like he had to force him on the run. They had to have a reason for it. Still, it was no real surprise to find out that, even now, Snicket was still making enemies, apparently on a larger scale than before.

They weren’t children anymore.

It wasn’t worth calling a meeting over; what could they do? Prove Snicket’s innocence? It was likely there were people already working on that, actual trained members of VFD. Find him? Good luck with that, Moxie had tried in vain before now. Besides, such an undertaking could compromise Snicket’s position. It was with a nagging, sickening feeling in her gut that Moxie made the decision to keep quiet. Instead, she ran an article about ‘notorious troublemaker’ Lemony Snicket whose days in Stain’d-by-the-Sea had been ‘coloured with chaos and crime’ (now that was how you alliterated), giving the piece a distinctly anti-Snicket feel in case anyone was watching. Satisfied with her handiwork, she sent it to print - with a tiny code at the end, in case by some chance he saw a copy, so he knew he could rely on her for help.

She read the case over again, from a number of papers and angles. One called for Snicket to hand himself over. One called for the press to re-evaluate their rapid conclusions. The case was complicated and not Moxie’s problem.  _ Snicket _ wasn’t her problem. Not anymore, and he hadn’t been for a long time.

The first person to call her was Pip, though he clarified he was calling on behalf of his brother too, who was hovering over his shoulder and kept chiming in.

“Is it true? I heard on the radio that Snicket’s a wanted man.”

“Tell her about the passengers I had,” Squeak hissed.

“My brother had a fare this morning, two men in suits asking if we’d seen one Lemony Snicket. They said they were from some government agency. But they weren’t very convincing liars. One of them had no hands and until prosthetics improve, I doubt a double amputee would be able to get far in that sort of profession, if you follow.”

Moxie did. “I suppose they asked you to inform them if Snicket came by.”

“They said he was dangerous,” Squeak interjected. “No surprises there. And gave me a number to call, for a Detective Alton Cufo. They asked when I saw him last.”

_ Wrong question. _ “What did you tell them?”

“That we gave him a ride to catch a train out of town,” Squeak replied. “And we thought it better that he didn’t come back.”

Moxie nodded, even though she knew it was a highly redundant gesture on the phone. She nodded because she knew all gestures were redundant on the phone and it was not intended to be perceived by anyone, rather it was self-confirmation. “I wrote an article smearing his name. With any luck, nobody will suspect we’re on his side.”

“Do you think he did it?” Pip asked tentatively. “You always knew him best.”

“Inasmuch as anyone knew him,” Moxie muttered snidely. She sighed. “I don’t know what to think. I don’t think he did it, no. He wouldn’t.”

Pip breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. I thought so.”

“Who did, then?” Squeak asked the wrong question. In her mind’s eye, an idiomatic expression which here means in her head, in her wildest imagination, Moxie pictured a young boy she had thought she used to know and never really did. She pictured him correcting Squeak for asking the wrong question. ‘That’s the wrong question’, he’d say, and then he’d ask the right one because he was Lemony Snicket and he was the sharpest of them all. Deny it though he might.

The right question wasn’t ‘who set all the fires?’ or ‘why would they frame Lemony Snicket?’ (the answer to the latter being, of course, because he was Lemony Snicket). The right question was ‘where is Lemony Snicket and what is he going to do next?’

Moxie was not Lemony Snicket and not entirely sure this actually  _ was _ the right question and whether the right question should be ‘what can we do to help him?’ She therefore didn’t correct Squeak.

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “But if anything, I probably blame Ellington Feint.”

 

-

 

The rest of the phone calls went along similar lines; people had been asking about Lemony Snicket around town. They’d asked Prosper Lost to keep an eye out in the hotel, they’d been seen colluding with the Mitchums. Cleo had warned her children about him and also the whole town in the process, Jake had added him to a list of banned patrons. Ornette had made an origami ‘wanted’ figure using several large sheets of intricately folded paper. Kellar had put up wanted posters around town and inserted a similar ad in the next issue of  _ The Stain’d Lighthouse _ , again with a code hopefully only Snicket and Snicket alone would see. All of them were acting as hostile as possible, while attempting to still be of possible use to Snicket. All of them were eager to be of use if he needed them. This should have made Moxie feel sour and to a point it did. After all this time, they were still running around after Snicket, perfectly willing to put themselves on the line (Cleo and Jake had the children to worry about, so were less willing, but the others were ready as ever). And after all this time, Snicket remained his ridiculous, enigmatic self, holding himself aloof, distant.

He never contacted any of them. Rationally Moxie knew it wasn’t safe for him to, but it stung anyway, as much as it used to sting every time he went chasing Ellington Feint, against Moxie’s better judgement instead as paying attention to her loyal, unwavering feelings toward him. Now  _ that _ had stung. Then he was gone and she’d missed him for so long, had read his columns and bought his books for a semblance of contact; that and she needed to keep up with the news and with regards the books, they were written by Snicket after all and so were bound to be good books.

The enquiring strangers called on Moxie last of all. They asked about the nature of her relationship with him, which she defined as business, back in the day. They asked when she had last seen him.

“I’ve not spoken to him since I was thirteen.”

“But you were associates?” the leader of the pair asked, single long eyebrow cocking.

Moxie shrugged carelessly. “I don’t think I want to be associated with someone who pushes men to their death and burns down buildings. Rest assured, gentleman, he will get no help from  _ me _ .”

_ Because he won’t ask for it _ , she thought bitterly, turning this bitterness into venom and making it seem like she was angry at Snicket. It didn’t take much acting because she was, just not the same kind of anger she was framing it as. They left town not long after, convinced this was a place that thoroughly despised Lemony Snicket.

Moxie just had to hope they hadn’t done too good a job, and that Snicket could see their messages. If he was even looking for them.

She had to hope.

There was little enough else she could do.

 

-

 

Some time went by, with no word from Snicket. Though that was only to be expected. Silence from Snicket was the status quo. In fact, it had been over a year with only occasional updates in the news on how Snicket seemed to have eluded capture once again, gradually shifting from front page to a little way in. Of course he could give everyone the runaround. Hadn’t he had an unusual education?

It was some surprise, then, when Moxie recognised his picture on the front of the Daily Punctilio, that sincere face she could recognise elements of her old friend in (was he an old friend? She liked to think he was, that what they’d been had been stronger than mere associates, not that there was anything fundamentally weak about the bonds of association). She grabbed the paper keenly, this was after all incredibly important.

Her eyes landed on the headline and she recoiled in shock and horror.

Immediately she moved to the phone and called Cleo, for the simple reason that she could tell Jake too, kill two birds with one call, that and her name came first in the alphabet and it was as good a system as any. “Cleo. Have you seen the paper from the city?”

“No?”

“Meet at Hungry’s, ten o’clock.”

“Why-?” Cleo began. 

“Kenneth Grahame,” Moxie replied simply and hung up.

Having ticked Cleo and Jake off, she dialled Kellar’s number next. He answered after a short time, sounding bleary and half-awake. “Hello? Who is this?”

“Kenneth Grahame,” Moxie answered. “Hungry’s, ten o’clock. We need to talk.”

“Alright alright - is everything alright?” Three alrights in one sentence. That was sloppy.

“No,” Moxie replied, and then hung up. The phone rang urgently and she ignored it, keying in Ornette’s number instead. “Ornette. Get to Hungry’s by ten. This is about Kenneth Grahame.”

“By that you mean Le-”  _ mony Snicket, don’t you? _ was how the sentence would end and both of them knew it.

“Yes,” Moxie answered, and hung up.

The same happened with Pip and Squeak - called them, gave the meeting, namedropped Kenneth Grahame and hung up without another word. They were ready. She studied the article while her phone rang pleadingly and she resolutely ignored it.

‘Author and fugitive Lemony Snicket dead’. She didn’t believe it but reading on she felt her heart sink and what hope she had falter. The evidence seemed pretty conclusive. But Snicket couldn’t just die like that. He was too good at what he did, too sharp. He couldn’t just die, except he could and except he had. Had he? She called a few contacts she had in the industry, fact checking. All of them confirmed the articles. She tried to call other associates linked to Snicket through VFD but she didn’t know all the numbers and didn’t know if she could trust some of them and disqualified them on that count, and in the end she could only get through to one of them for sure. His sister. Kit.

“Your brother-” she started.

“Which?” Kit asked sharply. “The living one or otherwise?”

“So it’s true?”

Kit was silent. “It...seems to be. I looked into it. He’s not been seen, he had no way of escape this time. He’s not been in touch with anyone. Not even Beatrice. He’s gone. My baby brother.” Her voice cracked slightly. “He always spoke very highly of you, Miss Mallahan.”

“He didn’t like to talk about you.”

“I suppose he wouldn’t,” Kit sounded amused rather than offended. “L could be so sensitive about some things. He’d throw a fit if I called him L, for instance. Which was why I did it, I suppose.”

The thought of an indignant Lemony being offended at his sister giving him an affectionate nickname made Moxie smile despite herself. “He was something else, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. He was.”

“I can’t help feeling like I could have done more-” Moxie began.

“How do you think I feel?” Kit retorted. “He was my little brother! Our parents told me to look after him.”

“He always did what he wanted,” Moxie remarked.

“No,” Kit corrected. “He did what he had to, whether he wanted to or not. He did what needed doing, no matter what anyone else said or how scared he was. He was so, so stubborn. I didn’t see him frequently, or at all lately. I thought I missed him. I was wrong. I miss him now.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” said Moxie.

Kit scoffed. “Not directly. But I’ll always feel guilty. Jacques is torn up over it too. It’s the line of work, isn’t it? We’re all in danger and you can forget it sometimes and then when you let yourself get complacent…” she trailing off. 

“I’m sorry about your brother,” Moxie said sincerely.

Kit was quiet. “Thank you,” she replied, and there was an awkward silence chasming between them, the kind of silence where both had things they wanted to say but neither knew quite how to say them. Pretty soon they made their goodbyes and ended the call, Moxie putting her phone back on the hook and staring grimly back at the article. She checked her watch. Her watch told her it was almost nine o’clock. One hour until the meeting. Her concentration was too fragmented to continue studying the newspapers or to do anything that required any concentration at all, even a simple crossword - she was yet to struggle with any from the Daily Punctilio, but even that wasn’t something she felt up to today.

She tried to busy herself with a million mindless distractions, tidy up, do the dishes, but she kept being drawn back to the papers, to that brutal headline that kept punching her in the heart.

It hit home. Her friend was dead. He’d once called her his prime associate. She’d pushed him away, rejected him and he was gone. She’d always wanted to speak to him again, to reconcile maybe and now she had no chance. He was gone.

_ No tears, Moxie _ , she told herself in young Lemony’s voice inside her head.  _ Cry later. Right now you have to keep it together and make sure the others know. _

With that she set off down to Hungry’s for the ten o’clock meeting, feeling very much like the bearer of bad news. She felt like this because she was.

She was about to drop a bombshell on them.

_ Cry later _ , she told herself in her own voice inside her head, straightening up, pulling herself together, and other synonyms for putting on a show that was actually a complicated way of coping. Coping is a process that here means adjusting to deal with grief so it does not take you with it. Grief is an all-consuming thing if you let it be, it can make good people do terrible things and bad people do even worse, or it can change them for the better or it might not change them at all and only cause a hole to open in the heart that rained tears each and every night. So people find ways of coping. This was one of those methods.

Postpone emotions for a more convenient time.

And then cry later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing in this tone is so ridiculously fun oh man  
> I'm getting the next chapters typed up soon and will update quick, hopefully. Starting another long-ish project is daft of me but I'm doing it anyway and we shall see where it goes.  
> I'm still in the writering zone for it so I'm going to try and get it done soon.
> 
> at a guess, I'd say maybe five, six chapters? possibly more. no more than 10. If it ends up being 13 now please stop me.


	2. Self-deprecation Only Permitted Outdoors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moxie calls a meeting to discuss Lemony's apparent death, and then heads back home to find him. And there's something wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sickfic is fun, riiiiiight  
> look I'm trying to have a good time here writing my nonsense pls indulge me here

**Chapter Two: Self-Deprecation Only Permitted Outdoors**

She arrived at the diner five minutes early, but as it happened she wasn’t early at all as everyone else was also just that little bit early. They were all clustered into a booth except for Jake who was making breakfast. The sign on the door said closed and so Moxie walked right on in, knowing the easiest way to keep people out was with a sign like ‘closed’, ‘No entry’, or ‘Danger! Man-eating Sharks!’ The rest of the group looked up on her entrance and Jake went over to the door in case anyone else decided to come calling. It wasn’t lunch time yet so there was little crowd. Jake served Pip and Squeak a breakfast that was more of a second breakfast and a breakfast that was a breakfast to a tired-looking Kellar Haines and some coffee for Cleo and Ornette. Coffee reminded Moxie of Ellington Feint, who in turn reminded her of the reason why she was here. The newspaper felt like it was burning her hand.

“What’s happening, Mallahan?” Jake asked. She could feel all eyes on her, as she slammed the paper down in reply. The others craned their necks to look at it. She heard their collective intake of breath and saw them exchange looks of mostly confusion. “Egad,” Jake breathed. “ _Snicket_.”

“This is fake, right?” Pip’s voice shook slightly. He looked around, uncertain. There was silence. This was the silence of nobody wanting to answer. “He’s dead?” He didn’t sound convinced. “Are we sure it’s not some kind of fragmentary plot?”

“I spoke to his sister on the phone. If anyone would know, it’d be her. She didn’t. That is to say, she did and she confirmed it. Lemony’s dead.”

Silence, nobody knowing what to say this time. Moxie wondered if they were thinking what she was, what they could have done differently.

“What,” Pip began tentatively. “Could we have done differently?”

 _Wrong question_ , Moxie thought, in Snicket’s voice.

 _What’s the right question?_ she asked him, irate, feeling like she was thirteen all over again. She didn’t get an answer. She didn’t get an answer because Snicket was a) not here and b) dead.

_(the right question was ‘if Snicket is dead, where is the body?’)_

“Nothing,” Moxie replied stubbornly. “You know Snicket.” _Or didn’t_. “If he’d come to us for help, maybe we could have.”

“Or we could have got hurt,” Kellar interjected. “The people that were after him could have come after any of us.”

“Do you think we did too good a job looking unfriendly?” Ornette asked.

“Like Kellar said, we could have got hurt,” Cleo agreed. “I know that’s a risk some of you can take, but Jake and I have children now. We had to be careful.”

Jake nodded, looking a little guilty.

“Nobody’s blaming you,” Squeak said reassuringly.

“I’m the one that made all the posters,” Kellar said.

“Nobody’s blaming you either.”

“Maybe the origami was a bit over the top-” Everyone was blaming themselves now, it was going round. If anyone was at fault, Moxie knew it was her. She could have used her position as a journalist to look into it further. She could have looked into it further and should have, Snicket could have been alive today. Or she could have been dead too.

“Hey, you remember that time we all got abducted and he showed up to rescue us? He didn’t have to. He just did.” Jake smiled. “He never paid for a single meal in his time here, but we read the same books and he helped bring life back to this town. He did so much for us.”

“He _did_ have to,” Moxie pointed out. Everyone looked at her. “It was just the kind of person he was. He had to.”

“He always gave us good tips,” Pip agreed. “He recommended us some good books, didn’t he?” He nudged his brother.

Squeak nodded. “Like the one with the man who can stop flying missions if he’s crazy but only if he asks and if he asks to stop flying missions he’s sane and has to fly more missions.”

“He always recommended good books.”

“He helped rescue me and get me back to my Jake.”

“He saved me too,” Ornette added.

“And Lizzie,” Kellar pointed out. They would be here all day, listing the people around them Snicket had directly or indirectly saved.

Moxie sighed. “I remember when he asked for my help robbing my own home and when he asked what I was doing on a train he was clinging to the side of.” _And the time we rescued a woman from drowning. And the time he called me his prime associate_. “Or the time he realised Polly Partial was face-blind and got me to cut his hair like Stew Mitchum to frame him for stealing melons.”

Laughter. “Oh, the honeydew melons!” Jake chuckled. “I remember that.”

“I think it’d be pretty hard to forget that detail,” Kellar replied.

 _And the time he chased Ellington Feint everywhere. And the time he murdered her father in front of her, in front of us too, pushed him right to his death. Hangfire_.

But Moxie kept those memories quiet and chose to smile and share the happy ones instead. Then they separated, Hungry’s opened for lunch and Moxie headed home to work on the next edition of her paper, which would not mention Lemony Snicket at all.

Except under obituaries.

 

-

 

Arriving home, she didn’t exactly notice anything wrong. Everything seemed as it had when she left. There was absolutely nothing amiss. She headed upstairs to her office where she could go over her plans for the next edition. On the way up the stairs, she heard nothing. On the landing, she heard nothing. Entering the room, she heard the door creak and the sound of someone trying to breathe quietly and failing. Her first thought was that this was it. Whoever had come after Snicket had, for some reason, zeroed in on her. She stepped into the room and her jaw dropped, an expression that here means she gasped aloud, thoroughly stunned at the presence of the person sitting slumped in her chair. It was like seeing a ghost, in that he was supposed to be very, very dead.

“What’s the news, Moxie?” said Lemony Snicket, casual as anything. Like they’d just seen one another yesterday instead as years ago. Like he wasn’t supposed to be _very, very_ dead.

She glared at him viciously. “The papers said you were dead.”

Snicket shrugged vaguely. “The papers also said I’m a dangerous felon, that immigrants are responsible for thunderstorms and that Swiss cheese is made by bees with very tiny spoons so you can’t believe everything you read.”

And that was such a Snicket thing to say that Moxie’s anger fizzled out and relief washed over her like a wave over a particularly tenacious hermit crab. And then sparked up again furiously. “Goddammit Snicket, what the hell? You don’t speak to us for years. You don’t even write, or call. And now this, out of nowhere, after we’ve all just had a meeting to discuss your death.”

“I know,” Snicket said simply. “You weren’t the only ones doing as such. I had to be sure you thought I was dead and made it look like I was dead to any of my enemies who might be watching.”

“ _Enemies_.” Moxie rolled her eyes. “Of course. Paranoid as ever. A fragmentary plot. You can’t even trust us with your secrets.”

“You would have reacted differently if I’d told you, given something away by accident. Sorry Moxie.” He looked her in the eyes and seemed genuinely apologetic. “I do trust you.”

“Don’t apologise to me,” she fired back. “Your sister thinks you’re dead. All your fr- _associates_ think you’re dead. You’d better have some damn good answers.”

“If everyone thinks I’m dead, they’re not in danger,” Snicket replied. “I protect the people I care about.”

“And what about me?” Moxie asked, folding her arms.

He smirked. His smirk hadn’t changed much since she’d seen him last. Oh, his face had aged, and he was in many ways a stranger but he always had been a stranger so nothing had really changed, especially the smirk which was as it always was. Smart. Intelligent. Sharp enough to cut oneself, a phrase which here means ‘smart and intelligent, but in a pointed sort of way and not the placid way of people in your class who think they have all the answers and do not’. When he wasn’t smirking his face had a solemness to it that used to make him seem older. Moxie wasn’t sure what it made him seem now.

“I do care about you, Moxie. Thanks to your little press campaign, it looks like you’re against me and even if anyone suspects I’m alive, this is the last place they’d expect me to come. Congratulations with that, by the way.”

She tried to quell her pride. She failed. “Yeah, well, I just thought about what you’d do.”

“I’m flattered you think I’d handle it so well.”

Moxie snorted. “Of course you would. You’re Lemony Snicket. You were brilliant at twelve.”

He made a noncommittal noise that could have meant anything but sounded dismissive. “I asked the wrong questions.”

“And the right ones too.”

“I messed up.”

“Everyone does.”

“I couldn’t save Ellington’s father.”

“He was Hangfire, dammit Snicket stop blaming everything that went wrong on yourself.”

He smiled ruefully. “Regardless, brilliant is hardly and accurate adjective and even if it were, I’ve been something of a disappointment since.”

“Not true,” Moxie shot back. “I’ve read your work.”

“I saw.” He gestured to the bookshelf and winced, suddenly clutching at his ribs. Panic hit Moxie. She suppressed it, redirecting those impulses to the twin towns of concern and urgency.

“Are you alright?” He hissed in pain. “Snicket, say something. What happened?”

“I’ll be fine,” he managed and that right there was a lie. She knew because it wasn’t the first time. So many situations, after the beating from Stew Mitchum, after he leapt onto that train and almost died in the process, and other situations too, involving a girl with eyebrows like question marks, Ellington Feint. He got himself into these situations and came stumbling to them. She didn’t want to know how many times this had happened in the long years since he’d been away. The people he’d stumbled to instead.

“Sure,” Moxie replied, raising her eyebrows. “Or you’ll fulfill all those articles and die. And I really don’t want you to die. I missed you, you know? Why did you never call?”

“I didn’t think you wanted to hear from me,” Snicket admitted. “After-” He didn’t finish.

She knew what he meant anyway. She knew what he meant because he’d been there. “You’re an idiot,” she said, bluntly. “You always have been. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, Moxie,” he said, trying to catch his breath and failing. His breathing was too shallow and too quick. Moxie’s own breath caught in her throat. There was something wrong. Snicket was injured, perhaps seriously. Snicket might die. She couldn’t lose him a third time.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” Moxie reassured him reassuringly, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He relaxed slightly. Moxie grinned. “So long as Ellington Feint isn’t involved.”

Snicket laughed, a wheezing sort of laugh because he wasn’t breathing properly. “I assure you, it wasn’t.”

“Unless assure is a word that here means promise, that doesn’t help.”

“Assure is a word that here means ‘I promise she’s not involved in my life anymore and hasn’t been for some time.’ Satisfied?”

She saw red. “No, I am not satisfied, Lemony Snicket, you don’t get to do this to everyone again. You don’t just get to make everyone think you’re dead and then show up after years - _years!_ \- and you’re in this state and won’t explain how or why. That’s not how this works.”

“Please, Moxie,” he asked, _begged_ and sounded so pitiful. “Please.”

Her heart softened. “Alright. What do you need? I assume you have a plan?”

Snicket nodded. “I need a place to hideout and lay low for a while. I need fresh bandages and disinfectant. I need some of Jake’s cooking. I haven’t had a decent meal in some time and Jake’s food was always above and beyond that description, I assume it still is.”

“You’re sure you’ll be okay?” Moxie asked tentatively. Snicket gave a weak smile. “What about your sister? The others? She mentioned someone called Beatrice.” Snicket tensed. “Who is she to you?”

Snicket sighed. “We were engaged.” Three words, and the pain on his face both physical and emotional. “There are circumstances in the way right now. But when this is all over, we will be together again. When this is over.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Snicket. Truly I am. What is she like?”

He smiled sadly, wistfully. “Wonderful. Beautiful. Incredible. A truly exceptional woman. Intelligent, brave...too good for me.”

“Now stop that, Snicket. You cut that out. No self-deprecation under this roof.”

“I’m very sorry. I’ll be sure to go outside next time,” he said dryly. Moxie couldn’t help snickering at that. She’d missed him. He was back, with the same sarcastic sense of humour. It was such a Snicket thing to say. “Maybe not. If you’re seen here, it won’t do your health any good. Save the self-deprecation for another time.”

“If you say so,” he rolled his eyes. They shared a smile.

“You should get some rest Snicket. I’ll get you what you need and we can patch you up. See how you are in the morning.”

Snicket nodded. “You can’t tell anyone, Moxie. You can’t.”

Moxie scoffed. “Of course. You and your fragmentary plots, dammit. I’ll continue to let everyone else believe you’re dead, if that’s the plan. But I won’t like it. Damn you Snicket, for putting me in this position. Damn you.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, leaning into a hug. He seemed so pitiful right now, Moxie couldn’t be mad at him. She didn’t much like Snicket being pitiful. She much preferred being mad at him. That, at least could be fun, and was far less emotionally painful.

“It’s alright, Snicket. You just rest and recover, alright?” Snicket nodded. He still wasn’t breathing right. She was worried about that, as you would be if an old friend showed up suddenly, injured and with irregular breathing.

She fetched him a blanket, some equipment from her first aid kit, and in absence of Jake’s cooking, a ham sandwich.

He insisted on tending to his wounds in private, which she indulged him in. When she checked back, he’d passed out on her sofa. She sighed deeply.

Looked like she was childminding Lemony Snicket all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you. there was something else I wanted to say here but I forgot. If it comes to me I may say it yet.  
> EDIT: The thing I wanted to say, thank you to TheBigCat, is that the book Squeak mentions is Catch-22. You could probably have found it from that vague summary since that's a central part of the novel. I recommend it, it really is a trip. If you like stories with non-chronological narratives and oft-surreal humour, this is one for you. It's a classic.  
> Yes im advertising books now what of it


	3. The Stars My Destination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snicket's situation is worse than it seems; Moxie has to seek assistance from Cleo, somehow without giving away anything. Somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blood warning for this chapter. If you dislike coughing blood I'm very sorry.  
> whoops spoiler  
> but gotta warn this u kno  
> also this is where my distinct nonsense medicine kicks in and like, let's just wing it. suspend all disbelief pls im making this up as I go along and using Mad Max: Fury Road as inspiration

**Chapter Three: The Stars My Destination**

 

He slept until dinner time and then traipsed into her kitchen with the blanket wrapped around him in a way that had no right to be as adorable as it was. He was clinging to the walls, avoiding windows. Perhaps it was the lighting, but he looked paler. Saying nothing - for once - he took a seat at her dining table, still looking around dubiously. Without a word, Moxie shut the blinds and Snicket relaxed greatly. She wondered who exactly could be after him and she didn’t wonder because she knew, sort of. Right now everyone thought he was dead. Right now he almost looked it.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, voice hoarse from sleep. “What’s the news?”

Did he realise the irony of it, or did he thrive on being the only one allowed to ask questions, to demand answers?

“Do you ever think before you speak? Like, I know the irony must have occurred to you. You have this radar for dramatic irony and wander right into it on purpose, don’t you?”

He shrugged. “I have been known to think before I speak at least twice in my life.” And even though that was such a Snicket thing to say, she couldn’t stop feeling mad at him.

“So you don’t have to explain where you’ve been and what happened to you, but I do? Talk about a double standard, _Mr Snicket_.”

He looked at her, eyes pleading. “Moxie-”

She exhaled. “Cleo and Jake have two children, Hungry’s regularly wins awards, the invisible ink business is thriving, I run the revived newspaper and Kellar assists. Ornette works in the hotel. I haven’t the foggiest where Ellington Feint is, which here means I don’t care, not one jot. And you just dropped by out of the blue after having nothing to do with any of us for years. I know I’m probably asking the wrong questions, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I don’t deserve answers. It’s irresponsible to jeopardise us all over secrets you won’t tell us.” _Again_ , she thought, even though that was different. Snicket said nothing. He looked down at the floor. Moxie sighed. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better,” Snicket lied, and she knew it was a lie because he looked worse.

“Honestly, now? Don’t you lie to me, Snicket. It won’t work. The truth, please.” She folded her arms firmly.

Snicket started to sigh but broke off into coughing suddenly, covering his mouth and bringing his hand away with flecks of blood. Horror hit Moxie and she felt like her ankles were tangled in seaweed while the Clusterous Forest flooded over her. She’d known it was bad but this was worse.

“Lemony,” she breathed, reaching across the table and taking his hand. He gave her a nervous smile.

“That pasta’ll boil over if you don’t keep an eye on it,” he said, gesturing across the room at the pan on the stove.

Moxie glared at him. “Only you’d bring that up now. Snicket- _Lemony_. We need to get you medical help.”

A look of panic crossed his face. “Can’t,” he wheezed urgently. “Can’t trust anyone.”

Moxie felt a cocktail of emotions, cocktail being a word which here means several complicated feelings at once and originates from the art of mixing drinks of the alcoholic variety to create interesting flavours. It is not recommended that you drink many cocktails at once. Especially if you are currently underage. Feeling a cocktail of emotions, however, is possible at any age. Moxie identified one of them as anger, and one of them as a horrified sort of sympathy. What had happened to him to make him so fearful? Seeing him like this was rough.

“You trust me,” she said softly and he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Lemony.” He looked up at her. “You’re not well. You’ve been injured. I’m here to help.”

Why did those words make him look so sad? She wondered. She didn’t ask it out loud. It may not have been the wrong question, she couldn’t be sure. She didn’t want to hurt him further.

“May I have some tea?” he asked politely and she sighed. It hadn’t been a refusal of help. Just ignoring it, sidetracking. But she couldn’t say no and put the kettle on, getting back to the pasta at the same time. She brought him his tea and then his plate of food, taking a seat opposite and tucking into her own portion. Occasionally she glanced up to see how Snicket was faring. He seemed to be managing but then, whenever she looked he would always seem to be managing because she was looking. When she looked up again he was nursing his tea carefully. The silence between them was a silence of years, a silence of absence. A silence of friends become strangers.

“If I’m too much trouble,” Snicket said eventually. “I can go elsewhere.”

 _Idiot._ Moxie gritted her teeth. “You can stay. As if I’d kick you out like this. You’re a total mess, did you know that?”

“I had an inkling,” he said, eyebrows quirking upwards.

She snorted. “You will be too much trouble, but there’s nobody I’d rather be in trouble with. Is that a reasonable enough answer?”

“Foolhardy.”

“Did you expect anything less?” He nodded, reluctantly accepting. “Anyway, I’ve been thinking,” Moxie continued. “While you were asleep. I think I can make up a bed in the attic, out of the way. I can bring up some books for you. You’ll be out of the way if anyone comes calling.”

He nodded again. “Sensible Moxie.”

“Learnt from the best,” she replied and he reddened slightly. “I’m teasing. But I did look up to you, you know?”

“And I you, even though you weren’t any taller,” he replied, finishing his pasta and pushing the bowl away. “We made good associates once.”

 _I was your prime associate in Stain’d-by-the-Sea,_ she thought. _Prime associate is a phrase that means you were my first crush and I wasn’t yours. That honour probably doesn’t even belong to Miss Feint, who knows? But still. It meant_ **_something_ ** _._

People said there was something special about your first crush. It wasn’t something Moxie had given much thought to because she didn’t want to cast her mind back to the boy in the hat with the keen sense of humour in that dry way he’d had, still had. The feeling itself had passed a long time ago, passing like a kidney stone in that it had hurt a great deal. But she couldn’t deny there was something special about Snicket because he was, well, _Snicket_. The specialness of her first crush was not because it was her first proper crush but because it was Snicket and there was strangeness in the air around him, this inherent mystery.

She wondered if this Beatrice could solve that. If it even was a mystery to her, or just Moxie looking at things through a journalistic lense and overcomplicating it.

It was getting dark out now. In his present state, a phrase which here means as injured as he was (and still not breathing right), Snicket would need her assistance with the stairs.

She offered him her arm.

After all, they were associates.

 

-

 

They made it most of the way to the attic without issue, stopping for rests for Snicket to catch his breath, something he failed to do each and every time. He leaned against the wall, breathing raggedly and insisting he was alright. He was not alright but that went without saying. However he was managing to pass for alright the majority of the way until they reached the final flight of stairs to the attic and she heard him struggling to inhale.

“Would you like another break-” she began, before looking at him and realising precisely how wrong that question was. “Lemony!” He was leaning on the wall, gasping for air, lips taking on a terrible blue colour. “Oh God, Lemony. You need air.”

“Cleo,” he stammered. “Oxygen.”

“I’ll call her now,” Moxie promised, steadying him with her hands. She set him down, leaning against the wall, propped up there in a position where it was easier for him to breathe. She headed down to the phone.

“Moxie!” Snicket called, voice quiet and wavering, almost inaudible. “You can’t tell her. Please, Moxie. Make up some excuse. It can’t look out of the ordinary to outside observers.”

“And I can’t even tell Cleo?”

“You said she’s a mother now. It wouldn’t do to go getting her into trouble. I can’t endanger her or Jake or her children. Please, Moxie.” He coughed painfully and she relented.

“Fine. I’ll call her and say I have an urgent experiment I need to conduct. A surprising one that I can’t talk about yet but it’s for a particular case. Something involving um...diving?”

Snicket managed a nod. “If you like. Sell it. I trust you, Moxie.”

Being trusted by Lemony Snicket felt like a great weight on her as she walked downstairs to the phone. First she called Cleo, explaining she would need strong oxygen for an important thing that had come up, that she wasn’t yet at liberty to disclose but would as soon as it was ready. Cleo seemed excited to be of use and said she’d bring it tomorrow, at which Moxie couldn’t help interjecting with alarm.

“No! I mean, thanks Cleo. I can come around tonight and pick it up. It’s important.”

“Did you want my help?” Cleo offered.

More than anything, Moxie wanted to say yes, but she remembered what Snicket said and cursed him internally. “No, it’s fine. I can’t bother you. Seriously. It’s fine.” It was not fine, but Cleo accepted and said she’d see her later. She didn’t ask any further questions.

Second she called the Bellerophon taxi company to get a cab to Cleo and Jake’s. Squeak answered and said Pip would be there in a minute. He arrived five minutes later. In the meantime, Moxie manoeuvred Snicket to the attic, laying him to rest in a bed that was too small for him that would have to do. He may have thanked her as he exhaled, but she barely heard since he was so quiet and was pretty much inaudible. When she heard Pip at the door, she felt a rush of fear that he wouldn’t be alive when she got back.

“Stay alive, Snicket,” she murmured. “Or else.” And with that she ran downstairs to the waiting car.

It took all her strength to not tell Pip. If the newspaper earlier had burnt her hand, keeping Snicket’s secret scalded her tongue until it itched, wanting more than anything to spill it. But Snicket trusted her. She couldn’t.

“Shame about Snicket,” Pip mused out loud. “He was one of the best. He could make anybody feel like a co-conspirator without revealing anything at all. I know you two used to be close.”

“You could say that,” Moxie replied. Yes, you could. You could say that nobody in Stain’d-by-the-Sea ever really got close to Snicket, or that out of those there she’d got the closest to being close. You could say they were prime associates once. You could even say he trusted her so much he was currently hiding out in her attic where he was struggling to breathe. You could say lots of things about Lemony Snicket but Moxie chose to say precisely none of them. Instead she said ‘you could say that’, the weight of the secret and of Snicket’s trust still pressing on her tongue.

You could say that.

‘He’s alive’, she wanted to say. ‘Barely. If you drive faster we might be able to ensure it remains that way.’

“Step on it, Bellerophon,” she said instead. “I’ll give you a tip.”

Pip obliged and when they reached Cleo’s place Moxie leaned forward. “Did you ever read the one about a boy growing up in India who travels with a Buddhist monk and ends up being trained to be a spy? It’s by the same author as the one where a boy is raised by animals in the jungle.”

“I find his work a little dated and colonial,” Pip replied.

“Yeah,” Moxie agreed. “At times. But it’s still a very good story. Children training to become spies is kind of familiar. And the dialogue is pretty good.”

“If you say so,” Pip replied. “You want me to wait?”

“Sure,” Moxie replied and headed up to see Cleo. “Thanks Pip.”

“No problem,” he called back out of the window. He wouldn’t have said that if he’d known the truth. Or maybe he would have. Moxie had no way of knowing. Pip was a good person like that.

Moxie was heading to see Cleo. Cleo was expecting to see Moxie. She answered the door and smiled at Moxie reassuringly.

“I have the equipment you requested. From what you said on the phone, this sounds more like a biological experiment than chemical,  but I’m always here if you need me.”

“That’s very good of you Cleo, but I’ll be fine.”

Cleo touched her arm. “I’m sorry about Lemony. You were fond of him, weren’t you? You _liked_ him.” Her tone wasn’t accusatory; rather conciliatory. Moxie nodded and Cleo hugged her. “This way. The equipment is in my lab. Jake is putting the children to bed right now. I have to warn you, compressed oxygen highly flammable. And it can be dangerous to inhale in high doses.”

“I don’t intend to inhale it,” Moxie said truthfully. _She_ didn’t. This was for Snicket. Cleo couldn’t know that.

“Oh. That’s good, then. Just be careful, alright?”

“I’ll try,” Moxie replied. She was already not being careful by taking Snicket in. Normally the opposite of careful would be careless, but taking Snicket in was not a careless act. She’d handled it very carefully, meticulously, yet it still put her in danger. What was the opposite of careful while you were still being careful? Moxie wasn’t altogether sure there was a word for that. She collected the things Cleo had got together in her home lab: two oxygen tanks, and some airtight tubes. Moxie already had an idea what to do for a facemask/delivery system. They’d spent years fearing the bell and there were still masks from that era. She just had to modify the extant mask and it could work perfectly. Duct tape was a gift.

Putting the required objects into a nondescript bag, nondescript being an adjective that here means ‘one that would raise no eyebrows and seem more like she was carrying clothing or knitting or some sort of other nondescript items rather than important objects to save someone’s life’. She thanked Cleo profusely and hoped to one day tell her what a difference she was making. As she made her departure, she heard footsteps on the stairs. The footsteps belonged to a pair of feet that belonged to Jake Hix. He gave Moxie a sympathetic smile.

“Sorry to hear about Snicket,” he said.

“Why does everyone keep apologising to me?” Moxie wondered out loud.

There was an awkward sort of silence then, and Moxie left. Pip drove her back home in the same kind of rush as before which Moxie was very thankful for. She was terrified to come home and find Snicket worse. She was terrified to come home and find Snicket dead or dying. She thanked Pip and almost forget to pay her fare. She was in such a rush. She paid and then recommended a science-fiction book about a future where people spontaneously learnt to teleport and a man who was abandoned on a ship in space with no hope of rescue to keep a secret safe.

It began and ended with a poem:

‘Gully Foyle is my name  
And Terra is my nation.  
Deep space is my dwelling place  
And death's my destination.’

Only at the end the poem was different instead as death it said something else, something hopeful. It was a book that ended on a note of hope, and that was something they all sorely needed. Moxie least of all. She had to hope the poem at the end of the book was the right version. That Snicket’s destination was not death but instead…

Back inside she went, emptying her bag onto the living room floor and starting work on this endeavour. First, though, she had to check on Snicket and was relieved to find him both alive and conscious, if a little out of it. She rushed through into another room, searching through junk for one of the old masks. Perfect. She had to now attach tubes to it and hook up one oxygen tank. It was fiddlier than anticipated but in the end she was satisfied with the. It was fiddlier than anticipated but in the end she was satisfied with the system she’d rigged up and carried it gingerly up the stairs to where Snicket lay. He shot her a grim smile.

“That looks...impressive,” he managed. “Good job, Moxie.”

“It’s a temporary fix,” she said, placing the system over his head and turning on the flow of oxygen. His breaths grew deeper, less shallow, less rapid and frantic (a  word which here means shallow and rapid, with a hint of panicked desperation). He relaxed and she did too. Evidently it seemed to be working. “We need to find out what’s actually wrong with you and treat the cause, not the symptoms.” She frowned. “I think we’re going to need an X-Ray machine to examine your chest.”

Under the mask, Snicket nodded. “Needle. Or...hypodermic syringe. If I’m right…” he trailed off. “Trapped air.”

Moxie nodded. That sounded about right. Trapped air in the chest cavity could put pressure on the lungs. It went hand in hand with a collapsed lung. A collapsed lung was frequently caused by chest trauma. Confirming her suspicions about Snicket’s injuries. They’d have to drain the air as soon as possible.

“I’ll call Cleo now,” she said. “She’ll have what we needed.”

Snicket pulled off the mask abruptly and shook his head, frantic. “She’ll suspect something’s up if you call now, just after visiting. It’s late. Invite her and her family for lunch tomorrow and make sure she brings what we need then. I’ll be alright until then, Moxie.” There were a lot of alrights going around lately, and all of them were lies.

But the worst part was, aside from the alrighting, Snicket was _right_. If they were to keep this plot fragmentary and avoid raising any external suspicions, even if everyone thought Snicket was dead, she couldn’t call Cleo tonight. A bad joke about Cleo’s surname sounding like ‘tonight’ popped into her head and she pushed it down. Anyway. Much as she disliked keeping Cleo out of the loop and playing along with Snicket’s schemes she didn’t have much choice. So she nodded reluctantly instead.

“Tell me-” she began, the words ‘what happened never making it to her tongue’. “About Beatrice,” she finished instead.

And Snicket looked so, so sad she almost regretted asking but then he smiled too and he told her everything, without saying a single word about his current predicament or what he and Beatrice had done together. As he talked more, his face lit up. He clearly did love her, dearly.

There was a chance at happiness for him, so near and yet so far away, a verbal cliche which here means between being a fugitive and faking his death, things had really gotten out of hand and the likelihood of seeing Beatrice soon was small. Still. He was alive. Where there was life, there was hope. That was a common idiom that wasn’t always true but right now was. They had to end it on a hopeful note.

 

‘Gully Foyle is my name  
And Terra is my nation.  
_Deep space is my dwelling place  
_ The stars my destination’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Book recs:  
> Kim, by Rudyard Kipling. Kipling gets a lot of bad press lately, much of it kinda deserved tbh but one thing the guy could do was write. Kim is a rly rich novel that paints a vivid picture, and I am very attached to the protagonist. I have a beautiful edition of it. I might post pics of it on tumblr, it's rly stunning. The espionage element of the story is mostly mysterious and in the background. Kim is an excellent protagonist too, it's kind of a coming-of-age story for him. But with spying. And a religious quest. It's fab.
> 
> The Stars My Destination by Bester. It's a 50s sci-fi story but it's also a story of revenge and it's not really hard sci-fi at all. It's dated relatively well, however from a female character viewpoint it can be a bit iffy in how they're treated (also kind of racist too). I do like them all, they're good characters. There's also an implied rape. It's very offscreen and cuts away. But it's an excellent novel and one of my favourite books for the simple reason Gully Foyle is so, so stubborn. He never stops, never gives up on his revenge no matter how impossible it seems. He pushes on. He's one of the most bloody-minded, compelling characters I've read. His character development is smth else, as he learns more he grows as a person and adapts.


	4. The Cause of All Problems Rhymes With Snemony Licket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moxie and Lemony catch up properly; later Moxie and Cleo conduct makeshift surgery on Lemony and Jake bakes a pie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> medical nonsense  
> it's all improv-ed and I don't even know just suspend your disbelief will you please.  
> I'd consider this the weakest chapter but it's going to be done soon. I'll get the final chapter and the epilogue typed up quick, hopefully, all going well.  
> fun fact! The working title of this fic in my docs is 'Snemony Licket sickfic' bc it makes me laugh more than it should. true story.

**Chapter Four: The Cause of All Problems Rhymes With ‘Snemony Licket’**

 

Moxie woke up in stages of awakeness. The first stage was that fuzzy half-awakeness where the birds briefly sound like the backing track to your dreams and it ended with the realisation it was morning and it was getting light. Moxie had never needed an alarm, she just woke up spontaneously. This is a rare and precious skill one can easily lose through ruining one’s sleep schedule with years of sobbing into a pillow in the wee hours (‘wee’ being a Scottish dialect word for small and pertaining in this instance to small numbers, the early morning). Moxie, however, had been fortunate enough to have escaped this fate through the virtue of having a relatively pleasant life and was still able to wake up without the aid of any annoying beeping noises or other such irritations.

The second stage of Moxie’s waking up was that point when all the memories from yesterday flood your mind in an erratic, out-of-sync order. Snicket was dead, and then she was visiting Cleo because he was not, and he was breathing funny and she was telling everyone he was dead, everyone meaning his former associates in town and he was lying on a too-small bed upstairs with makeshift breathing apparatus Moxie had cobbled together. She sat up abruptly, jumping out of bed in a rush. The night had allowed fears to brew and to stew in her mind, images of Snicket dying tragically while she was asleep. She bolted for the stairs, throwing on a dressing gown quickly as she attempted to leap the stairs three at a time. Naturally, she tripped when she misjudged one of them suddenly because she really was not properly awake.

The third stage of Moxie’s waking up was her picking herself up, getting to her feet and continuing upward more calmly, getting her thoughts in order before heading through to see Snicket. She had to prep herself for it. If he was awake, she could be mad at him. He was asleep. She could not be mad at him. He looked peaceful, his face genuinely unconcerned for once and she didn’t want to disturb him. Besides, if she woke him up, he would be awake and she would have to be mad at him. She didn’t want to be mad right now. Didn’t have the energy for it. She decided to check his bandages, see if there was anything she could do now. The injuries looked more minor than she’d thought, or perhaps they were mostly internal which was not reassuring, not one bit. As she moved him, she heard him murmur something semi-consciously. It sounded like it might have been ‘Beatrice’. For a moment she thought he’d woken up and froze, preparing to be mad at him, exhaling when she realised he was still fast asleep.  _ Beatrice _ , he’d said. She wondered what Beatrice was like in person. Snicket seemed besotted. She sorted his bandages and left him to rest.

Time to call Cleo.

Jake answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Jake. Is Cleo there? I wanted to discuss my experiment with her.”

“Oh, hey Moxie. I’ll get her now. One second.” It took slightly more than one second, closer to seventy-two instead. Moxie knew because she counted.

“Moxie Mallahan. How’s your experiment?”

“Seems to be going okay,” Moxie replied, mostly truthfully. “It looks like I might be needing a couple more things. Like an X-Ray machine and a large hypodermic syringe.”

She could practically hear Cleo’s confused frown, if confused frowns could be audible via telephone. “What kind of experiment is this?”

“The kind where I’ll tell you when you come over for lunch. Jake, the kids too.” It was a blessing it was a Sunday and so they were all free, no school for the kids, Jake was off work. This made it possible to use that alibi. She knew Snicket must have considered that. Even in the state he was in. He’d thought it through.

“That sounds good,” Cleo replied cautiously. “And you’ll explain what this is about?”

Would she? She’d have to if she wanted to stand a chance at getting the X-Ray machine working. Damn what Snicket said. Damn him. If he really wanted to waste away and die in her attic he had another thing coming because Moxie wasn’t going to let him. She intended to tell Cleo when she arrived, she decided this now. Snicket couldn’t complain if it was to save his own life. And if he died, well, he couldn’t complain. Though she wouldn’t put it past him. If anyone could complain beyond the grave, it’d be him.

“I’ll explain what this is about,” Moxie confirmed and set the time for Cleo to visit. Cleo agreed and said she’d see her later and neither of them mentioned the elephant in the room; a phrase which here means avoided discussing the most obvious topic at hand, say the presence of an elephant, or in this case the death (or not) of Lemony Snicket. That was what the silence between them said, before Moxie said goodbye and hung up. She headed through to her room to get changed, putting together an outfit quickly. A moment or so later she heard a crash from upstairs and, rolling her eyes, darted back up to the attic to prevent said dead man from trashing the joint.

“Snicket! It’s okay, I’m here. Cleo’s coming over at lunch.” She managed to get him to settle down eventually. He’d knocked over some junk, nothing important. It was something of a relief he hadn’t broken her system she’d gone to all that effort to rig up for him. “Did you need this?” She picked up the mask.

He shook his head frantically and she looked somewhat sceptical. “Beatrice,” he wheezed. “Have to call Beatrice.”

“Okay, but if you try to get downstairs now, you’ll break your neck. Just rest, okay Lemony?” She handed him the mask and he reluctantly accepted, turning the oxygen on. Once again, his rapid breathing relaxed and he lay back, managing to get himself together or thereabouts; meaning not at all. He breathed in and out for a few minutes and then swiftly pulled the mask off and teetered to his feet, insisting on getting up no matter what Moxie said. He stood up and leaned on her shoulder, still struggling ever so slightly but smiling grimly. 

“We’ll try and call her,” she reassured him.

He shook his head and that confused her. Hadn’t he just wanted to, more than anything? What was this change in heart? “Can’t. I want to, more than anything,” he confirmed. “But we just can’t risk it right now. Have to be careful.” He looked like saying it was breaking his heart, even though he knew it was the most reasonable decision. Being rational could be one of the loneliest and most painful things in the world. “I don’t know if we’d be able to get through to her anyway. Communication can be unreliable. Can’t write letters…” he broke off into coughs. “Could be intercepted. Can’t send messages through others, don’t know who we can trust. I can’t call her, Moxie. What could I say?”

“That you’re alive?” Moxie suggested sarcastically. “I mean, what do I know but letting people think you’re dead sounds like a bad idea to me. What about Kit? Jacques? There are people who care about you, Snicket. People who deserve to know you’re alive. Not just someone you haven’t spoken to for years, the last person anyone expected you to contact. Other people deserve to know too.”

Snicket couldn’t look at her. “I know,” he said quietly, then added. “I’m scared, Moxie. If people think I’m dead, I’m not putting them in danger. As soon as I feel better, I’m going to leave and I won’t trouble you anymore. It’s not fair to hang this over you. You don’t deserve that.”

“So what? You’re chickening out and going into hiding?  _ You _ ?” Moxie was incredulous. “What happened to you, Snicket?”

Snicket sighed deeply. “I learnt how the world works. There are many, many dangerous people out there and I’ve made enemies of a lot of them. More than I should have. If they know I’m alive they’ll look for me. And that’ll help my enemies. I didn’t want this. But this is the situation we’re in and we have to work with it, we being a pronoun I am here using to refer to myself in the singular, as with the royal we, which here means  _ I _ have to work with it. It’s my problem, Moxie.”

Moxie glowered at him. “This is my house and I’m the one helping you. So right now, it’s my problem too.”

“I’m very grateful,” Snicket replied. “Truly I am. I’m sorry to put you in danger. I wouldn’t do it if I had any other options.” Wouldn’t tell her he was alive. Wouldn’t seek any help at all.

She wanted to tell him he had so many other options. He had family, he had associates, he had  _ friends _ . She knew he’d brush it off, say he couldn’t endanger them, that they were probably being watched. Maybe that was true. Still, it reeked of fear and melodrama. She’d associated the latter with Snicket anyway for a long time. Now the former was rearing its ugly head. Could she blame him? After he’d got himself into that mess, it was understandable he’d be afraid. He still wasn’t breathing right. He was injured, he’d almost died. People thought he  _ was _ dead. He didn’t want that happening to the people he cared about. Ultimately he was prepared to go out and face it alone rather than drag anyone else down, whatever ‘it’ was. And that, Moxie realised, was an exceptionally brave thing for someone who was so frightened. Very, very brave indeed.

“I’m here, Snicket,” she said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t react. “Lemony. I’ll be here.”

“You’re incredible, Moxie,” he said sincerely. “You are.”

She absolutely didn’t redden. “You flatter me, Snicket.”

“You always were, Moxie. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about what happened.”

“It’s not me you should apologise to. Hangfire wasn’t  _ my _ father.” Snicket nodded wordlessly. “I guess I understand your reasoning for keeping quiet. I’ll accept it.”  _ I won’t like it, but I’ll accept it. _ “You will tell Beatrice eventually?”

Snicket was silent. “When it’s time,” he said, voice low.

“You’d better. She will move on if you don’t, you know?” 

“I know,” he replied, sadly. “I miss her dearly.”

“I’m sorry.” He really did seem incredibly devoted to her. It was sweet, in a certain way. She was a lucky woman. But if he talked about her too long, it would inevitably make him sad. “Are the books to your liking?” she asked, deftly changing the topic.

He smiled. “They are indeed, albeit placed a little far away. I didn’t want to endeavour to reach them last night, lest I become a victim of gravity. And that happened anyway.” He pulled a face. “Legs...are a problem, when they choose not to work.”

“I’ll move them closer,” Moxie said and she did. He looked them over and nodded, putting them down next to his bed.

“So aside from what little you snapped at me yesterday, I didn’t get much answer. How have things been in Stain’d-by-the-Sea? Anything interesting happen?”

“Define interesting,” Moxie snorted.

“That’s up to you. You’re the journalist. Tell me, Moxie. What’s the news?” He cocked his head curiously. Moxie smiled.

And she told him everything.

 

-

 

They spent a little while after that catching up. ‘Catching up’ is an activity which here describes the act of becoming reacquainted and giving details of another’s life, if a little vaguely in Snicket’s case, and ‘a little while’ is a phrase which means just over an hour. Snicket remained a fascinating conversationalist with a witty and wry sense of humour, despite not being at his best right now. They still had much in common in many ways, and still got along fairly well. They did read the same books after all. So they talked about Stain’d-by-the-Sea and about various novels and things that had happened over the years, Snicket’s career as a journalist (minus his role operating within a secret society), Moxie’s time in much the same. They talked while he could, until he had to rest and use the oxygen mask again before going to sleep. Moxie headed off to prepare lunch once she was sure he was alright. A little while later Cleo and co arrived and Moxie had to go answer the door.

There was Cleo and Jake and their two children, Trina and Jackson, Cleo holding one wrapped box and Jake carrying another. Moxie wondered if he knew what it was. The look in Cleo’s eyes told her he didn’t. 

“Come in!” she said, in that false sort of cheerfulness everyone has when their friends arrive at the door, whether they are hiding someone in the attic or not. “I’ll serve lunch now.” Lunch was lasagna with a side of veg. It hopefully didn’t taste terrible. Moxie always felt a little self-conscious cooking for Jake, but he was always very polite and gave friendly tips how to improve, which almost made things worse.

Moxie was many things, but a natural chef was not one of them. It wasn’t appalling, it could have been worse. It could have been better too. The children were at an age where they picked and complained at everything and Cleo had to put her foot down.

“Dad’s cooking is better,” Trina complained. 

“I don’t like green foods,” Jackson insisted.

“Well, you’re not leaving the table until you clear your plates,” Cleo said, arms folded. “And there’ll be no dessert.”

This was the perfect time to borrow Cleo and head upstairs. Moxie sent her a look asking her to follow and Cleo nodded. They both stood up at almost the exact same moment.

“Keep an eye on them,” Cleo said to her husband as she picked up the lighter box, allowing Moxie to take the heavier. “Make sure they eat their food too.” Knowing Jake, he was equally likely to whip up something else instead, which was also alright. It would keep him out of the way while Cleo and Moxie dealt with Snicket. 

When they were out of the room, Cleo pulled Moxie aside. “What’s the experiment? All this secrecy, it’s a fragmentary plot, isn’t it? What’s the end goal?”

Moxie rolled her eyes. “Would you believe me if I said it rhymed with Snemony Licket?”

Cleo looked confused. “You’re not saying…”

Moxie nodded. “Upstairs. Come on.” Cleo followed her upstairs. She was clearly confused and getting up the stairs with the X-Ray machine took a combined effort. It was very heavy and seemed to get heavier, although rationally Moxie knew this was just muscle fatigue.

“What do you mean, Moxie?” Cleo hissed. “How is he alive?”

“The answer to that is I don’t know, but probably sheer stubbornness. And only just,” Moxie replied flatly. “Up here.” She showed her into the attic quickly. Immediately on them entering, Snicket leapt to his feet, automatically on the defensive, ready to run. “Snicket! It’s okay.”

“You told her,” he said, accusatory, sitting down on the bed to catch his breath. “You’re endangering her.”

“Yes, I know, I’ve heard it before.” Moxie rolled her eyes. “Save it, Snicket. We needed her to help with the X-Ray. Sue me.” Sue me did not literally mean she intended to take this to court, which would be awkward for all parties involved particularly those supposed to be dead, but rather it was a typical comeback used especially while annoyed with people called Lemony Snicket.

Cleo stared. “You’re not dead,” she said, a somewhat redundant but accurate observation.

“Apparently,” Snicket said drily. “I’m as surprised as you are.”

That was such a Snicket thing to say, that it made Moxie smirk and Cleo too. “I’m glad you’re alright,” Cleo said. “I knew there was something decidedly fishy about those reports.”

“Quite. ‘Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated’, and such,” Snicket quoted sarcastically.

Cleo cast her eyes around the room and saw the mask system. She looked back to Snicket and clocked how he was breathing and the pieces of the fragmentary plot fell together. “The oxygen was for you. That means the X-Rays...the syringe…” Snicket nodded grimly, coughing and struggling to get enough air. Cleo looked worried, understandably so. Moxie knew she must have looked worried too, by the reassuring smile he gave her.

“We think it’s trapped air,” Moxie heard herself saying.

Cleo nodded as if confirming a suspicion. “Of course. We need to locate the air pocket and release that pressure. The pressure causes a person’s lungs to collapse and prevents them taking in enough air.” She looked over at Snicket apologetically. “This isn’t really my field, but I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you, Cleo,” he managed. “I want you to know...not telling you was not personal. I have nothing but respect for you. I’m sorry to drag you into it.”

By now, Moxie had heard enough of these apologies to last a lifetime but Cleo hadn’t and she looked genuinely touched by it.

“It’s no problem, Lemony. I’m more than happy to be of use.”

He nodded and smiled sadly. “Jake and the children?”

“Trina and Jackson. Jackson is three, Trina’s four. Trina is short for Citrina. Like citric acid,” Cleo explained, matter-of-factly.

Lemony understood. Of course he did. “Like lemons.”

“Exactly. She goes by Trina. She’s almost five, Citrina is a bit difficult for her.”

“Imagine me learning to say Lemony,” Snicket replied, deadpan. Cleo laughed. Moxie couldn’t suppress a smile either. That was a frankly adorable image.

“So they’re...downstairs?”

“Downstairs, refusing to eat lunch. Jake is keeping an eye. He’s a wonderful father.”

“I’m sure he is,” Snicket sounded proud and a little sad. Moxie knew by now he was thinking of Beatrice. Of being a father one day himself. If he lived that long and got back to her.

On that note, it was probably better they got this operation over and done with while Jake and the children were otherwise occupied.

Cleo set up the X-Ray machine and Snicket stiffly, with some difficulty, removed his shirt. As Moxie had seen earlier, he was covered in bruises and scrapes; and that was the  _ un _ bandaged area. Gingerly she assisted removing the bandages. It looked bad now, bold purple bruising around a healing wound that was still ugly and red - but not, thankfully, bleeding or infected. Snicket’s eyes were flat and dull as he looked up at the ceiling and lay back, a sure sign he wasn’t well. He looked lifeless and that was very, very wrong for him. So very wrong indeed.

“Okay. Let’s see what we’ve got,” Cleo narrowed her eyebrows. 

“Lungs would be a good start,” Snicket offered unhelpfully.

“A brain,” Moxie muttered. “Oh, sorry. Too unrealistic.”

“If we’re letting out the air, I should really have brought some sedatives or strong painkillers,” Cleo noted. “Since we’ll be puncturing your chest.”

Snicket didn’t seem to have enough energy to nod, so Moxie squeezed his hand. It’ll be alright. Think of Beatrice. You’re going to be just fine.”

“Any oxygen left?” he asked faintly. Moxie nodded and passed him the mask, while she checked the X-Rays with Cleo. As Cleo had said, one lung seemed to have collapsed slightly, the left. The pocket of air was a blotch just next to this. Having located it on the X-Ray, they now had to find it with the syringe. Which had the potential to be incredibly painful.

“Here, I think,” Cleo prodded a section and Snicket made a pained noise. “Sorry.”

“Do what you need to,” Snicket replied, barely audible, little more than a vocalised exhalation. Cleo nodded and Moxie moved in with the syringe, easily it slowly in, trying to cause as little pain as possible. Snicket for his part kept mostly silent, breathing raggedly through it all.

Do what needed doing.

The story of his life.

Moxie gradually drew the air out, along with a small amount of fluid she didn’t want to try and identify. The pressure seemed to ease, Snicket was breathing a little better. In this time they were all so focused on the task at hand, none of them noticed the sound of footsteps running up the stairs. The door opened and Jake poked his head in.

“Cleo-” he began and broke off. “Egad. Is that Snicket?”

“Possibly,” Snicket murmured faintly. “I’m not entirely sure. Perhaps we ought to check?” And that was such a Snicket thing to say, Jake’s jaw practically hit the floor. “Really, it’s not as bad as it looks.” Moxie finished up, removing the needle, and he hissed in pain. “Really.” He wasn’t particularly convincing.

“I mean, you’re not dead, so that’s a start,” Jake joked halfheartedly. “Already doing better than I thought. Looks like nothing much changes, eh Snicket? Still getting yourself into all kinds of disasters?”

“ _ Causing _ all kinds of disasters, try as I might to avert them,” Snicket replied.

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you make it sound. Uh, Cleo?” He looked over at his wife. “Well, I can explain. The children seem to have climbed into an air vent while I was making them a blueberry pie. I actually can’t persuade them to come out. Could you...uh, assist?”

Cleo sighed deeply. “There’s my cue, I’m afraid. I’ll be back up in a minute. You could meet the children-”

Snicket shook his head vehemently. “No,” he said firmly. “For their safety, and yours, and Moxie’s, and my own. I’m sure they are wonderful children and incredibly talented to climb into an air vent at such ages but I’m afraid I cannot meet them. I wish them all the luck in the world.” He coughed, his whole body shaking.

“Are you alright? Snicket?” Jake sounded panicked. 

Snicket smiled thinly. “I will be.” He inhaled, then exhaled, then continued to do both reasonably well. “Go retrieve your children, Cleo.” He gave her a genuine smile and she seemed won over and headed downstairs. Jake lingered.

“It’s good to see you again, Snicket. We named our daughter after you, in a roundabout way.”

“There are people,” Lemony said seriously. “Who have a tradition where they name children after associates who’ve passed.”

Moxie shuddered. “That’s a bit macabre. It also gives the children unrealistic standards to live up to an calls for unneeded comparison between them and the previous person by that name.”

“Nevertheless, it is the done thing.”

“In VFD?” Jake asked. Snicket said nothing, neither confirming nor denying, and his silence could have meant anything from reticence to speak on a subject to inability right now. “Will anyone name a child after you?”

“I doubt it,” Snicket replied darkly. “It’s a dangerous name to have. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

“That and who wants to call their child Lemony,” Moxie scoffed. Snicket cast her a sidelong look, a phrase which here means eyed her sideways in a manner that connotes critical behaviour. 

“You wound me, Moxie. Quite literally, with that needle.” Jake laughed and Moxie tossed him a bottle of painkillers, aiming intentionally for his head. He reached up a hand abruptly and caught them, which was both impressive and annoying.

“Would you like me to fetch some water for those?” Jake offered.

Snicket nodded. “Please. Ah - you also mentioned blueberry pie? I’ve been missing your cooking, Jake. If you could bring a slice up for me. And Moxie, if she’d like.”

“Of course.” Jake touched Snicket’s shoulder in an amicable sort of way. “It’s no trouble at all. You want some too, Moxie?”

Moxie nodded. She couldn’t say no to Jake’s cooking, even if it were impromptu and made out of ingredients found in her home. Jake acknowledged this and darted out again, leaving Moxie and Lemony alone once more.

He was breathing better, which was a good sign.

They were about to have the greatest blueberry pie known to mankind, and that was no hyperbole. Hyperbole is a word which here means exaggeration and to say Jake’s pie was the greatest known to all mankind was no exaggeration because it truthfully, really and truly, was.

Things were looking up.

Probably not for long though.

Nothing ever lasted,  _ especially _ not pleasant times. In fact, they seemed the shortest of all sometimes. And this brief moment, sat in an attic with plates of fresh blueberry pie that arrived in a jiffy (a colloquial expression that here means promptly) it couldn’t last.

For a start, they finished the blueberry pie promptly (an adverb that here means in a jiffy) and then also because time passed.

But that moment was one Moxie would commit to memory. Every detail, to try and preserve it in her mind’s eye. It was an important moment. She felt inexplicably happy and wasn’t sure why, which is the precise definition of something being inexplicable. Emotions are frequently inexplicable, because they are next to impossible to explain, especially if one has alexithymia, a trait wherein one is unable to describe emotions pertaining to the self.

They finished the pie.

And so the moment passed.

As all moments will one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much, almost done.  
> please indulge me in the names of the children it's silly. I know. Just indulge me alright this once.


	5. Departures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cleo and Jake leave, and Lemony too prepares to make his own exit. However, there is one more surprise visitor waiting to make an appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooh boy, almost done. after this, there's just the epilogue and it's very short. I'm pleased with how this chapter turned out. Thank you so much for everything and I hope you enjoy these final, concluding sections

**Chapter Five: Departures**

  
  


Cleo and Jake stuck around for a bit, one of them minding the children at a time while the other came up to the attic to converse with Snicket. Snicket himself seemed tired, to the point where he abruptly fell asleep mid-conversation, something so uncharacteristic because if nothing else Snicket surely loved the sound of his own voice. He was, however, breathing better which was always a start so he was well on the road to recovery. Right now he just needed rest. They left him to do just that. The children played downstairs, easily distracted after their air vent escapade. Those children were going to be trouble, and of course it had been Trina’s idea. Of course. If Moxie were superstitious, she’d say it was the tangential link of her name influencing her. She was not superstitious.

Before they left, both Jake and Cleo came upstairs in turn to make their goodbyes to an unconscious Snicket.

“See you later, Snicket,” Jake said, presumptively anticipating there would be a later or a next time before Snicket made himself scarce. Considering he hadn’t planned for Cleo or Jake to find out and it was common knowledge the more people who were in on a secret, the less likely that secret was to keep the esteemed title of ‘secret’ and become instead common knowledge. Moxie knew this. She knew this and she knew Snicket’s modus operandi (a Latin phrase for mode of operation, that usually but not always refers to crime or some other suspicious or dubiously legal behaviour), He would not want to stick around long, just until he was back on his feet again. Then, and Moxie was as certain about this as she was the Bombinating Beast’s hideous buzzing, he would leave. He’d confirmed it himself. He would vanish into the aether and likely as not, Moxie would not see him again. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Angry. Disappointed.  _ Robbed _ . But she wasn’t entitled to his presence. She’d just missed it. 

She didn’t correct Jake’s somewhat optimistic statement of farewell, nor shatter his hopes that he would ever address their friend again in person. There was no point. To do such a thing would be needlessly cruel, and Moxie was not by nature a needlessly cruel individual. Nor did she relish letting people down. She let Jake hold onto that idea, therefore, and watched him head downstairs.

Cleo must have known. There was no way she couldn’t have. “Goodbye, Snicket,” she said softly, so as not to wake him. Talking to someone who was asleep was somewhat, if not  _ very _ redundant but it gave a sort of closure. Really it was intended for the speaker’s benefit and not the slumbering listener. “Look after yourself. Good luck.” Cleo finished her useless farewell and then turned to Moxie.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you straight away. You know what he’s like. Some things never change, apparently,” Moxie said.

Cleo smiled. “It’s alright. I can’t fault you for following Snicket’s plan. Give him my best, if I don’t get to see him again. Tell him what I said.”

Moxie nodded. “I’ll see you around, Cleo.”

“Yes. See you, Moxie.” With that, she was good too. The children had already reluctantly hugged ‘Auntie’ Moxie goodbye and were eager to get home to their own toys and things where they could do as they pleased rather than having to be careful and bored. Children dislike having to tiptoe around and not break things. As a rule, breaking things is far more satisfying when you’re young than behaving respectably. For a few years it can be hard to take children anywhere, especially when they have a tendency to climb into air vents. One has to be careful, or practise the excuses routinely.

They were going home now and Moxie hoped they would be able to keep them safe. Snicket leaving struck her as a positive all of a sudden and she was horrified at herself for thinking it. It was true though. As long as he was here, those children were in danger and they didn’t deserve that. 

While he slept, she sat down in her office, typewriter at the ready and began to draft up a mundane, bland article about the planned celebrations of Dame Sally Murphy’s career after her passing a few years back. There was to be a public screening of various productions of hers, though Moxie couldn’t help discussing the controversy surrounding her departure from town and the Hangfire incident. Nobody really liked to talk about the incident now, but what with present circumstances and all it was on her mind.

Present circumstances be damned, she was a journalist and she had a job to do. Present circumstances meaning Lemony Snicket.

She heard Mr ‘Present Circumstances’ wake up, pacing furiously until he wore himself out with the weight of his many, many problems. After establishing he was alright, she left him to his own devices; she didn’t exist to pander to him. She existed to report on news, however trivial it might seem to be initially. Reading a leaflet about a revival of Sally Murphy’s most famous performances in the city, her eyes caught suddenly on the name of the actress assuming her role.  _ Beatrice _ . There was a picture in there of a beautiful woman. While there were many Beatrices in the world, to Snicket there was currently only one and Moxie was sure this was the one.

Part of her wanted to ask Snicket about it, but part of her, the larger part said no, that was not wise at all. It would not be sensitive and it would not be respectful. Setting the papers aside, she revealed a handwritten manuscript in writing that was unfamiliar. ‘My Dearest Darling’, it read, writing smudged with damp tear stains. It was long and hefty and clearly deeply personal. Picking it up, Moxie carried it upstairs. Snicket was reading a novel with a title that sounded like it was about very angry fruit but was actually about the Great Depression. 

He looked up when she entered the room. “I’ve read it before,” he remarked. “It always strikes me as unfair when the authorities break up their settlement. Heavy-handed officials terrorising the populace out of an obsessive desire to control.”

Moxie was silent. She set the manuscript down next to him. “You left this downstairs,” she said simply. His face fell. He picked up the manuscript and held it close to his chest. A few stray tears escaped. “It’s from Beatrice?”

“How much did you read?” he asked hollowly, sounding utterly empty.

“None, actually,” Moxie replied. “Just the heading, it caught my eye. I may be a journalist but unlike some I know where to draw the line. I’d never do that, Snicket. You know that.” He said nothing. “What is it?”

He sighed deeply. “It’s...it’s two hundred pages explaining the reason why she can’t marry me, a full, vivid explanation. She - she did return the ring too, but I couldn’t bear to hold onto it. I suppose Kit must still have it.” He shrugged. “So there you go. Beatrice rejected my proposal. We weren’t really even engaged. She considered it, then wrote two hundred pages why not.”

“That’s…” Moxie was lost for words, a phrase which here means stunned so utterly she couldn’t comprehend what to possibly say, and a tiny bit impressed. “I mean, that’s some dedication. Now we know there  _ is _ someone to rival you in the melodrama department.” Snicket seemed a little downcast (a little being an understatement and a half, shorthand for morbidly depressive). “Sorry. Really Snicket, I am. She’s passing up an incredible guy.”

He snorted. “You mean she’s passing up an argumentative writer who can’t let anything go, who has more enemies than Jake’s cooked hot dinners, who can’t even bring himself to say he’s alive because he’s too frightened, because she-” He choked up, coughing and catching himself, not quite breaking down completely. “She’s making the right choice.”

“What did I say about self-deprecating under this roof?” Moxie tried to inject a little humour into the conversation but it fell flat. “So that’s it? That’s why you won’t tell her?” she asked, confused. “How selfish are you?”

“Not selfish enough to intrude on a life that wrote me out. She’ll be safe. One day, maybe I can see her again.” He sighed and hauled himself to his feet, leaning on Moxie a little for support. “I should be going.”

“You need rest,” Moxie hissed. “You’ll just make yourself worse. You need to let yourself get better rather than run yourself into the ground, Snicket.”

“I know,” he replied. “I still should be going. Thank you, Moxie. For everything.” He still hadn’t told her how this had happened. By now she had accepted that he wouldn’t. She eyed him coldly. If she wanted to, she was certain she could restrain him in his current state. She was also certain she didn’t want to. For a moment she wanted to tell him what he’d meant to her once, how she’d felt betrayed when he’d gone chasing Ellington Feint instead, how she’d admired him and there had been this gap after he was gone. A hollow. She’d never told him how she felt.

Good thing she didn’t feel that way anymore so she’d never have to. Like it’d do him any good right now, after this. After Beatrice, who he’d never be over. 

“Did you want a hand with the stairs?” she offered instead and made herself of assistance, helping him down. He was still clutching the book to himself, refusing to ease up his tight hold.

He was leaving. This would be it. Moxie told herself this was a positive. She didn’t believe herself. Not one bit. Was he even well enough yet? Why wasn’t she putting her foot down? Why was she letting him do this?

Would he be okay?

Ever?

They had just about reached the door when there was a knock and they exchanged a look of shared panic, mutual understanding. Thinking on her feet, a phrase which here means ‘improvising’, Moxie unceremoniously shoved Snicket into the cupboard under the stairs. He accepted this fate without complaint. Smartening herself up she went to answer the door and look innocent.

What if it were Kit or Beatrice, or some other associate of his she’d perhaps met in passing (or not)? 

What if it were one of his enemies? The man with the eyebrow, or his companion with hook-hands?

She was pleasantly surprised and relieved to see it was only Kellar and then alarmed because this could be serious. She didn’t think Jake or Cleo would have told. This didn’t stop her doubting, second-guessing (another more convoluted way of saying doubting but with the connotation of weighing up numerous other options). She wondered if this was what it felt like inside Snicket’s head. All aimless paranoia and mistrust. It seemed a lonely sort of existence, all things considered.

“Kellar,” she started. “What a surprise to see you.” This was mostly sarcasm. Working on the same newspaper, Kellar came around a lot.

He stepped inside without being invited in, something you should only do if you know the person very well or if you are being pursued by a hungry bear, or in rare occasions, both. There was, however, no such bear in sight. Admittedly it would have been a little odd if there was. Somewhat abrupt, and belonging to a totally different story.

“May I come in?” he asked, a second too late.

“You’re already in, Kellar,” Moxie out.

“May I  _ stay _ in, then?” he asked without hesitation. Moxie meanwhile hesitated and hoped to any god out there that Kellar would not try to hang his coat and hat up under the stairs.

“Certainly,” she replied. “Shall I take your coat? You make yourself at home.” He went through to the living room. She hung up his coat, covering Lemony Snicket and then headed through to the living room. While she had the cupboard door open, Snicket winked at her. She didn’t wink back.

“So, Kellar, what’s the matter?”

Kellar stared at her incredulously. “Oh come on, Moxie! You aren’t telling me you bought Snicket’s death. This stinks. And the others - Jake, Cleo, Ornette? They’re good people but it’s like they’re pretending it didn’t happen. It ran into Jake earlier today and he seemed very upbeat. How can he just act like nothing’s the matter? Snicket-” he broke off. “I don’t get it.”

Moxie felt a twang of guilt at misleading people over this, especially Kellar, but she pushed it deep down. “We haven’t seen Snicket in years.”  _ Lie _ . “I hate to say it, Kellar, but he was only human. As mortal as any of us.”

Kellar frowned. “There’s something not right about this. I’m unconvinced. Moxie. Tell me truthfully, off the record. What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” Moxie lied. Kellar looked ready to object when there was an interruption from the figure in the doorway. 

“Yes she does,” Snicket said. Kellar turned to look, whipping his head around. He didn’t look astonished.

“I knew it couldn’t be true,” he said, standing up and hugging Snicket tight. Snicket blanched with pain and Kellar pulled away. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to - how are you?”

Snicket shrugged. “I’ve been better. I’ve been worse. One day I will be much, much worse and I will be decomposing underground. Hopefully that day will not be for a while. And you, Kellar Haines?”

Kellar looked a little taken aback by that roundabout, oddly poetic answer ( _ such _ a Snicket thing to say, damn him). “I’m okay. Sorry about trashtalking you to the whole town a bit back.”

“No worries,” Snicket replied. This was a lie because he never stopped worrying.  _ Ever _ . “Good job.” He looked at Kellar intently. “Did you get a cab here?” 

Kellar nodded. “Squeak’s still outside. He and Pip branched out, they have two cabs now. They want a flotilla.”

“I hardly thought they’d still both be driving the one. Unless it was a gargantuan taxi with vast, impressive pedals. That’d be something.” 

Kellar smirked. “I missed you, Snicket. Good to have you back,”

“Don’t say that, it’ll go to his head,” Moxie butted in and she saw Snicket smile, albeit only faintly, only briefly. 

“Thanks Kellar.” He shifted awkwardly. “Actually I can’t stay. It isn’t safe, for any of us. You don’t mind if I borrow your ride as a getaway vehicle out of town?” He looked at Moxie and answered her question before she even asked it. “Yes, I’ll go visit Pip too. The Bellerophon brothers are excellent people. I promise I’ll talk to them.” And that was something. “It may not be safe to visit Ornette. Well, Kellar?”

Kellar shook his head, and then nodded, uncertain which cue was the right one for this situation. “I can stop here tonight. Moxie and I have some articles to go over. Will you come back?”

_ That’s the wrong question _ , Moxie thought, in young Snicket’s voice in her head.

Snicket smiled thinly. “That’s the wrong question, Kellar.”

“What’s the right one?”

“Will I live long enough to be able to come back?” Snicket replied bluntly. Kellar looked mildly horrified, Moxie had rather expected it. What she didn’t expect was what he added next. “I’ll try.” Then added the impossible subclause to this arrangement; “When it’s safe.” 

“When will that be?” Kellar asked.

_ Never _ , Moxie thought,  _ not when you’re that paranoid. Never _ .

Snicket shrugged. “Who knows?” He gave them both an awkward smile, thanked Moxie one more time and then turned and was gone. Outside, Squeak’s taxi sat waiting. Moxie wondered how that reunion would go. He’d promised to go see Pip too, however briefly. 

He was leaving. He should have been resting but he was leaving, walking out of the door and vanishing once more because he was Lemony Snicket and that was what he did. Leave. Leaving Moxie and Kellar alone.

Kellar grinned. “Well. That was...brief. Did you know when you called us together?”

Moxie shook her head. “Our reaction was part of his plan.”

“Oh.” Kellar smiled grimly at the knowledge they’d been part of yet another plot. “Did you want to get on with the article instead?”

“God yes,” Moxie hissed and they headed to her office to get to work and put all thoughts of Snicket - and in Moxie’s case, things that had never happened or come to pass between them - aside.

Outside a taxi set off while the sky turned dark around them, a pair of headlights disappearing off into the black, then fading away and leaving only night and the absence of anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gdi Lemony why are you like this  
> ALSO the book he is reading is The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck. Excellent book, very well written, great dialogue and characters. I've not read it in a while so I'm due a re-read. Thanks to TheBigCat for once again pointing this out


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some time after Snicket's departure, a woman with question-mark eyebrows comes to town inquiring about him on behalf of someone. The results of these enquiries causes that someone to make an important decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short epilogue. ties up some things.  
> and some cameos that were very much needed, ofc.  
> so this is done now, though I do plan to maybe write more asoue/atwq fic eventually. if you ever have any prompts you think would be neat, send them my way at my tumblr, insertimaginativenamehere (gotta maintain that Brand Recognition).   
> Thank you.

**Epilogue:**

 

Eighteen months later, the woman with question mark eyebrows rolled through town. She grinned and waved at Moxie. Moxie glowered back.

“Ellington Feint.”

“Moxie Mallahan.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Moxie asked sarcastically.

Ellington shrugged vaguely. “I’ve been hired to look into Lemony Snicket’s death. Certain parties.”

“Which parties? Which side are you on, Miss Feint? I’ve never trusted you.” Moxie scrutinised her carefully. Ellington laughed.

“I’m not on a side. Why would I be? I’ve been hired by a side. Does which side I’m under the employ of affect your answer?” 

“No,” Moxie was lying and telling the truth at once. Telling the truth because there was no way in hell she’d give information to Ellington Feint of all people. Lying because if Kit, or the mysterious Beatrice asked, her answers might be different.

Ellington raised those querying eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Moxie retorted sharply. “Ask away?”

“Is Lemony Snicket alive? Have you seen him around?”

“Not since  _ The Thistle of the Valley _ and Hangfire,” Moxie replied and Ellington frowned, understandably so. That was why Moxie had thrown that name out there after all. More than anything she wanted Ellington to  _ leave _ . Stop asking the wrong questions, or the right ones. Yes. Stop asking the  _ right _ questions and go away. “So far as I know, he’s dead. There’s no evidence to suggest otherwise.”

“Other than the fact it’s Lemony Snicket,” Ellington pointed out.

“That’s conjecture, not evidence.”

Ellington smirked. “No, I think in this case it’s evidence. Anyway, thank you so much for your help. My employer will be disappointed but c’est la vie. Such is life. Call me if you hear anything.” She handed Moxie a business card and left.

Moxie handed the business card to the trash can and got back to typing manically. 

A letter from Snicket had actually arrived yesterday, written in cypher and in a disguised hand, inviting Moxie to be his editor.

And she was drafting a letter to accept.

 

-

 

“I see...that’s not what I hoped for but...I understand. Very well. Thank you, Miss Feint.” The woman hung up the phone and turned to look at the man who had just entered the room.

“Who was that?” he asked, amused. “Isn’t Feint the name of that girl with the unusual eyebrows who was connected to-” he broke off. “I’m sorry.”

The woman sighed and forced herself to perk up. The melancholy aspect around her didn’t leave altogether, but it passed over her, clouds drifting from the sun. “It’s alright, Bertrand. I was just confirming a regrettable and deeply unfortunate detail. I...I have come to a decision.”

“What decision is that, darling?”

Beatrice smiled and she truly was an exceptional woman when she did so, of rare, staggering beauty. “I’ve decided I will marry you.”

 

_ Fin. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I heard about the theory where Moxie becomes Lemony's editor and I like this theory so I'm running with it here.  
> thank you to everyone who has supported this, you really have inspired me to keep going and work hard. Your comments have meant the world to me.


End file.
